


my body's covered in teeth marks, your bite's worse than your bark

by Anonymous



Series: dog teeth [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Bad stuff only between dream and tommy, Gaslighting, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attacks, Referenced Manipulation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tommy exile arc, Trauma, suicidal ideations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dream pays Technoblade (and Tommy) a visit.
Series: dog teeth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069550
Comments: 27
Kudos: 519
Collections: Anonymous





	my body's covered in teeth marks, your bite's worse than your bark

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the same song part 1 is titled after. "Dog Teeth" by Nicole Dollanganger.
> 
> Pls read part 1 or this won't make much sense.
> 
> This is not intended to romanticize or sexualize any of the themes depicted within. This also does not reflect any of the content creators nor real life people who share names or handles. These are characters here and the events are, for all intents and purposes, fictional.
> 
> [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237152)

They had settled into a routine. A shitty one. One where Technoblade tip-toed around him and failed more than not and where Tommy pretended he didn't spend most mornings collapsed in his own vomit and nearly dying in the snow. 

He didn't have enough fingers to count the times Technoblade had hauled him back into the safety of the cabin. 

Something possessed him at night, something animal and terrified and disgusting, and he would come to with his fingers half frozen, limbs buried into the snow, and all of him headed for the shore. He would usually throw up every meager morsel in his stomach at the realization he had tried to go back. That some part of him had tried to crawl its way right back underneath him. A desperate, pathetic little fucking dog whining to prostrate itself at its master's feet. 

This morning was no different. He rose with the chattering clack of his teeth, shivering and shaking, from both the reality of cold and the irreality of the heat in his head. Bile rose and ebbed like high tide, pushing at the shore, threatening to broil over in a splash of sea foam and puce. He managed to avoid that at least, a small victory amongst so very many insurmountable losses. 

Technoblade didn't come to collect him today. And maybe he had exhausted the amount of times the pig was willing to do that. He had luckily not exhausted the pig's hospitality somehow. He had let him stay, tucked away and holed up in corners of his cabin each night. Far away from him and anything else that had limbs in the shapes of fingers and nails and hands-- 

"Tommy?" 

He jerked up to his feet, sleet slopping off of him with a wet squelch that rang and rang in his ears and churned his stomach with the distant nausea of something forgotten. 

"You might wanna come inside." 

He followed Technoblade's voice more than the suggestion, feet numb, hands numb, arms numb, whole body numb and unfeeling, eyes barely focused on the ground as he puppetted and pulled his body along with all the care of a derisive marionettist. The door shut behind him, the sound echoing and echoing and clanging around between his ears in the absence of anything else to fill the space as he stood and stared and failed to do much else. 

"So, I've been trying to figure out a way to hide you away if… you know who, comes knocking." 

And they dance around the name. They never utter it if they don't have to. Technoblade learned his lesson to never accidentally utter it after the fiftieth time. 

"All I got was this." 

He followed Technoblade's outstretched arm to the box on the floor. "What the fuck is that?" 

"A box." 

"I can fucking see that." 

"Look, it's the best I could think of, don't sue me." 

"Will I even fit?"

"I don't know, give it a try." 

He clambered into the top of it, the hinged lid knocking against the cabin masonry with a grinding click. Stooped, limbs folded into themselves, and head tucked in, he reached up for the lid and slowly drifted it closed. Darkness immediately swallowed him. 

"I guess it works." Technoblade muttered. There was the knock, knock, knock of footsteps that sent his heart slapping his sternum in forceful tandem. "But just in case, keep this on you." 

The lid creaked open and Technoblade handed him a glass bottle, the liquid within a noxious pinky-purple that swirled and shimmered. He hadn't really gotten used to Technoblade just handing him things, giving him shit, the strings attached to them somehow only visible to him but lost on the dumb fucking pig who never cashed in on the potential of them. 

He had waited, the first few nights. Unsleeping and unwilling to let his eyes slip closed, lest he miss the arm that slipped over his waist, the press of a body along his spine, the ruffle of panted breaths in his hair. But it never came-- It never did, and he managed to sleep now, but the thought was always there, that Technoblade could always just ask and he's not even sure he would try to say no.

The thought never helped his constant nausea. 

He accepted the potion and in his head tallied another little box. The odds stacked so steeply against him, it was only a matter of time. He owed so much, more than he could ever repay at this point. Not with his body his mind or his soul alone. 

"You, uh-- You coming out, or?" 

"Yeah, fuck off." He muttered, climbing his way back out, tucking the potion into his pocket for later.

"For someone so rude to me, you'd think I wasn't doing you any favors." 

He blanched. 

"A joke. It was a joke." Technoblade emphasized. 

His shoulders fell but only the slightest margin. They were always tensed. He couldn't think of a coherent moment where they ever unwound and fell below always being ready to climb up to his ears. 

"Okay, well, uh, what did you want to do today? We've got mining, helping with the bee farm, the turtles-- Oh, we could meet up with Phil, he still doesn't know you're here." 

"Mining is fine." 

He didn't really want to face Phil yet, if ever. Phil had a knack, this annoying little fucking trait, where he could look anyone in the eyes and he would just know. He'd know every tiny little thing he had tried to bury and stamp down so far even he had forgotten them. 

"Strip mining it is." Technoblade trodded his way to the chests, humming to himself before he picked one to rummage through. 

He watched, idly, fiddling with his own hands, fingers twining and untwining and twining again. The action somehow calming amongst a sea of unease. And he always felt two steps from some kind of cliff's edge. Like if he stumbled back too far he'd go plummeting and get dashed to pieces against the rocks and the unrelenting grasp of the sea. It was hard not to stare down that ledge and want to jump. To just sit in the belly of the cabin and hope he bloated and festered with flies and maggots. Sometimes, he thought about staying down there and never eating, never crawling back up into view and the reach of any living creature. 

Sometimes, he stared at the roof of the cabin and wondered how far he'd have to jump for his neck to break. 

He could tell Technoblade kept things hidden from him. Knives, sharp objects, the fire even had a new grate over it and all torches were kept out of easy reach. Like he was a fucking child. A little toddling idiot baby who would try and drink the nearest bottle of bleach because it was clear and liquid and it must be water, right? 

The clatter and thunk of the picks against the wood floor drew him back to this reality. Technoblade had gone rigid, frozen, eyes nearly glazed over, and it was similar to when Phil would use the communicator, but he had never seen Technoblade frown like that, his brows drawn close like that, his shoulders hiked and back hunched like he was more feral, less man. 

"Tommy." 

He blinked. Technoblade had never said his name like that either. The pig's voice had never shook or wavered or even trembled. Nervousness was not in the pig's playbook and the sound of it raked like fingernails down his back. 

"Tommy, get in the box, drink the potion. Don't say anything, don't move, I'll handle this, okay, it'll be fine, it'll be--" 

"Techno? What's happening, what the fuck are you talking about?" 

"He's on his way. He's-- I don't even know how he knows where I am, but he just contacted me and said he's visiting. You gotta stay hidden okay, _please_ , try to stay calm. I'm not gonna tell him you're here." 

Everything tunneled. His vision pulled back, receded, and the only thing he could hear was the low pitched whine of something in his ear. Maybe it was the tiny little wail caught in his throat. Maybe it was that it felt like fingers had wrapped around his throat and were squeezing and squeezing and squeezing and-- 

Arms bundled him up and he would have swatted at them, batted and kicked and spit until they let go, but he couldn't move-- Fuck, he couldn't even breath-- The confines of the box pressed in around him, the potion bottle was pressed into the empty curl of his fingers and he mechanically raised it to his lips, tasting nothing as it slid it's way down. He expected to hear the shatter of glass as it slipped from his fingers, but there was nothing and it was all darkness and the box being shut over him, head forced down between his knees. 

The tolling rasps, the sound of knuckles against the hard wood of the door made him press his hands so hard against his mouth he could feel the outlines of his teeth, taste blood and vomit and so much more than what was even there. He pushed, harder and harder, until he thought his own fists might cave in his skull and save him-- 

"Hey, Dream, weird seeing you here." 

"Yeah, hey Technoblade, how've you been?" 

His voice was so much worse than any nightmare. Than anything Tommy could have ever even imagined--

"The usual. Retirement. Bee farming. Old people stuff, you know?" 

Dream laughed, he fucking laughed, he laughed and Tommy literally couldn't do this, he couldn't fucking-- he couldn't fucking do this, gods he couldn't do this he couldn't he couldn't he-- 

"So, any particular reason you decided to visit, or just bored?"

"Little bit of boredom, little bit of business." 

Technoblade laughed, and it sounded so natural, it sounded real, like they were just buddies and friends and old fucking chums and he wasn't crouched in a fucking box feet away from wanting to tear out his own throat and bleed to death right there-- 

"What kind of business?" 

"Well..." Dream paused, letting the silence linger, and he was good at that, somehow he wielded it like a weapon. "I'm actually looking for Tommy." 

And he gagged at that, muffled it against the hands that had become permanently fixed over his mouth. He never wanted to hear his name said by that voice ever again. He never, not ever, gods please never again-- He could only hope Technoblade could play dumb, play the idiot here or else it was out of this box, back to the tent, back to the cot, back to the rasp of cotton sheets against his bare shoulders--

"Who?" Not that fucking dumb! "Oh, right, that guy. Isn't he still in exile?" 

"He is..." Dream said and every word was like an ice pick to the corner of his eye for how deep and intrusive it knocked right into the center of his skull and ripped everything away with it. "He left though." 

"Left?" 

"Yeah, uh, there was a bit of mishap on my part and he sort of... dissapeared. I just wanted to find him and make sure he was okay after everything."

"I'm sure he's fine, man. Probably out there griefing villagers and setting sheep on fire or something equally dumb." 

Dream chuckled, breathy and amused and he knew-- he knew exactly what that felt like against the back of his neck. Tommy pressed his nails into his cheek and knew he drew blood at the wet trickle that sliced down them. 

"Probably..." The footsteps drew close, the toe to heel slide unique to the bouncy, light, airy way Dream walked-- like he was ready to run at the hint of danger, or towards prey at the hint of movement. 

He pressed as far back against the box as he could, every tiny shuffle and shift he made loud in his ears, like the booming baritone of stones striking the floor of a canyon. He heard the sifting slide of fingers catch under the lid, light seeped through as it drew up and up and-- 

"So, any reason you came to my cabin looking for him?" 

The lid fell with a sharp thunk and Tommy managed to eek out the exhale he had been holding so long his vision had started to color. 

"No particular reason. I followed a bit of a trail and it pointed this way, but nothing's been conclusive." 

"He probably passed by. He hates me enough if he stopped by here, figured out it was me, I'm sure he would have just moved on." 

"Sure, sure." 

There was the sound of opening and shutting chests, of Dream climbing down the ladder with Technoblade in tow and then the two ascending once more. The footsteps approached his box again and he wondered how long it would take to brain himself against the side of it before Dream could stop him. 

"As much as I appreciate the visit, it's a bit weird to watch you rummage through my stuff, I gotta admit." 

"Sorry." And no he wasn't-- No, he _wasn't_ , he was never fucking sorry, never, he said it like he was passing out hellos, said it just to make you like him, trust him, think he would never do anything to hurt you, not intentionally, never intentionally, _'You know I'd never hurt you, Tommy.'_ \-- "Habit." 

"It's fine."

Dream sighed, the steps and presence of him receded away, and if he didn't know him, didn't know him as well and intimately and closely as someone could know another person, he wouldn't have been able to tell it was part of the stage show. 

"I really hope he doesn't think I'm mad at him for leaving." Dream admitted and he could just imagine the way he dipped his shoulders and inclined his mask at the words. "I really shouldn't have been so hard on him. That's my fault." 

"What, uh, what did you do?" 

"He was hiding things from me and I might have overreacted."

The genuine regret, the way he said it, it's-- it sounded so real-- It sounded so fucking real. 

"Overreacted like?" 

"I kinda blew up all of his stuff." 

"Oh… Yeah, that might have been a bit of an overreaction." 

"That's why I'm trying to find him... I want him to know I'm sorry and I didn't mean for things to end up like that." 

And Dream says it less like he's talking to Technoblade and like he's looking directly at him, like he had opened that lid and stared down at the vacant space taken up by his invisible limbs and spoken the apology right at him. 

"Yeah…" Technoblade trailed off. "Uh, well, he's not in this house… So, unless you needed anything else…?" 

"Techno." 

"Hm?" 

"Phil lives with you sometimes, right?" 

"Uh…?" 

"Just wondering why the table was set for two." 

"Oh, yeah," Technoblade laughed thinly. "No, yeah, Phil just visits sometimes, he was just here this morning actually." 

"Weird," Dream paused. "I thought I saw him by the docks on my way over." 

"I mean he's one quick guy, he can sure get around pretty fast and all I mean that's Phil for you, quickest guy in the whole SMP--" 

He can't help but wonder how much he'll owe Technoblade for forcing the man to continue to dig his own hole. 

"You know..." Dream started and Tommy wished he would just leave, just fucking give up and walk out the door. "I actually brought something that survived the explosives." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah it's just something he hung up in his tent." 

There's the rustle of parchment and the rasp of it exchanging hands. 

"If you see him, be sure to give it to him and let him know it's from me... Hopefully he'll take it as a peace offering." 

"What makes you so sure he'll run by here again?" 

The steps shifted back over towards his little box, the floorboards didn't even creak or groan beneath them. He held his breath, afraid every ragged inhale would be picked up and devoured. 

"Just a hunch." 

The sound of the door opening and shutting rang in his ears, and kept ringing even as Technoblade lifted the box lid and light flooded in. 

"Tommy?" Technoblade whispered. "You're still in here, right?"

He muffled a desperate little sob against his hand, all the stopped up noises he had wanted to let loose spilling out at once. 

"Oh, uh, okay-- I'll… I'll wait til the potion wears off. Yell if you need anything." 

The lid was shut again and he hated this stupid fucking little box, hated that he wished he could just stay inside of it forever, hated that there were tears on his cheeks and noises escaping his lips and he couldn't hold it all back or stop it or just shut the fuck up and throw it all away-- 

Dream had been here. Had been within inches of him. He had heard Dream breathing and laughing and speaking and he had said his name, panted it out like he wasn't hungry or wolfish or all bared teeth and bloodied lips behind the mask. Not human. Not even animal. Something worse. Something that had deemed him-- Him of all things and objects and trash; fuckable. 

He wanted to peel his skin off, starting from the top of his skull, the soles of his feet, the meat of his thighs, the phantom impressions of teeth in his neck and his collarbone and his hip-- He wanted to rip off every inch of him that had ever heard his name said like that, ever had his name twisted and gasped and moaned and kissed into it. Fuck. Fuck this-- He fucking-- This was so fucking-- 

He all but punched open the lid of the box, spilling out of it like jelly and toothpicks and the door stood as a shining spectacle as he stumbled for it. 

"Tommy? Hey, wait, he might still be--" 

He didn't care. He didn't care. He didn't fucking care. He wasn't scared of him. He wasn't. He totally fucking wasn't. He wasn't a child, he wasn't a whining, whimpering little baby trapped in a box. He would beat the shit out of Dream, watch that stupid mask cave in, listen to his laughs turn to gurgles and the pop and bubble of blood. 

The doors gave under his hands and he nearly fell his way down the stairs. The snow met his knees as he half collapsed into it and trudged forward. Going where? He didn't even know. Just towards and forward and somewhere where he could get his hands around Dream's dumb fucking neck and squeeze and squeeze until the bastard knew exactly how it felt to choke and cry and beg while nobody listened to you-- 

"Tommy, what the hell are you--?" 

Someone snagged his shoulder and he whipped around fast as an adder, teeth bared, eyes narrowed and all he saw was pink and green and red and white and black eyes and he swung his fist right at that stupid fucking mask that was all the wrong colors and shape, but it was him-- it was-- he knew it was-- 

His knuckles collided with flesh, not the unfeeling, ungiving mold of porcelain. He didn't care. 

"I hate you." He spit. "I fucking hate you, you fucking bastard, you fucking--" He swung again and someone caught his fist. 

He flailed and tugged and tried to pull away, keening high and loud. He just held him there, fist in his hand, and it was only a matter of time-- Only a matter of time before he was tugged close, chin tipped up, a tongue tutted and disapointment dripping on every note. 

_'You never learn, Tommy.'_

Maybe if he-- Maybe if he said sorry now it wouldn't be that bad. It wouldn't be so bad if he apologized, right? Maybe he would just-- He would just touch him and leave him alone and he wouldn't have to-- He wouldn't have to-- 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorr--" 

"Tommy, hey, Tommy."

There was the snap of fingers in front of his face and he crashed to his knees, hands fisting in the give of his jeans and pressing into his thighs as he waited and waited and-- 

"Tommy?" 

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I won't, I promise, please-- Just-- I don't want to-- I don't--" 

"What are you talking about?" 

He blinked. Blinked and blinked and screwed his eyes shut and blinked again and the world tilted and swirled and crashed around in a clutter of noise and sensation. 

"He's not here, Tommy. It's just us." 

He curled forward, hunching over his knees, face hot, shoulders hot, his whole body feeling like it it had been set alight and dipped in shame. He had punched Technoblade. Technoblade who was just trying to help. Who hadn't ever asked him to sit, or kneel, or beg, or take off his armor or his fucking clothes-- 

"Are you good now?"

He nodded but kept his forehead pressed against the snow. He didn't want to meet Technoblade's eyes. Not when he felt so raw and exposed he might as well be a nerve left to the mercy of the elements. 

"Do you need me to stay out here with you or…?" 

He shook his head. 

"Okay. I'll just, uh… be inside." 

The crunch of snow betrayed Technoblade's retreat and he didn't blame him for leaving. He didn't even know how to deal with all this shit. It's not like Technoblade would know any better. He was fucked up. Like really fucked up. Like something inside of him was put back all fucking wrong. Smudged and stained. Like a shattered cup, cobbled back together with red steeped fingers and dirt. 

He wanted to yell. Wanted to scream and thrash and punch at anything. It wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Why him? What the fuck did he do so wrong? 

The bumping grind of teeth echoed in the silence of winter as he clenched his jaw and fisted his hands into the frost. Cold twisted and snaked up his arms and he hoped it would just numb it all, just freeze up everything in his head and make it quiet for a moment-- He just needed a moment of silence-- It's all he wanted-- 

It took far too long, until his knees were non-existent his fingers gone too, and he was tired. Tired and cold and he trudged back up to the house and pushed the door only wide enough to slip in. Technoblade was at the table, sat at the far side from the door, sitting with his head in his hands and he didn't call him on it, the vulnerable moment his own. 

He sat on the other end of the table, waiting, chin cupped in his hands and elbows rested on the rickety wood surface. The piece of parchment lay between them. Rolled up, a note tacked onto it and stuck with a small bit of melted wax. It read his name on the outside, in folding and twisting calligraphy. Nearly reverent and elegant. Nothing like how his name should ever be written out. 

He reached for it, waited for Technoblade to stop him, but the pig seemed engrossed in his own palms. The drag of the parchment across the wood was the screech of metal against stone, the drag of the reaper's blade over cobble and he invited it all closer. 

Trembling fingers plucked off the note. He flipped it over to where the folds had been creased in. A small smiley face had been drawn on the back and he nearly tossed it into the fire right then and there. But he was curious. As curious as a particularly stupid cat. He had to know what was inside-- He had to-- It would gnaw at him forever if he never opened it--

He unfurled the note and it blossomed open like belladonna, all deadly and nightshade and posionous. Scrawled ink, less careful than the way his name had been written, glared back. 

_'Thought you might miss this.'_

His brow furrowed, jaw cinched tight and shoulders tensing up as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. The green little ribbon that held the parchment shut felt like a mockery. It slid under his fingers like velvet and he ripped it free from it's perch, tossing it onto the floor where he hoped it got trampled under foot and forgotten. 

The parchment unwound with the dry throaty cough of old paper and it threatened to rip at the ends under his fingers as he rolled it open. 

The singed face of the Queen stared back at him. 

_The image of the Queen and all it's awkward little tilt and charm stares back at him as he mulls over the biscuit in his hand. Puffy had left some in a box at the base of the tree she had built, leaving a note to let him know the credit went to Niki for them. He wasn't going to touch it and had left it alone the whole day. Dream had found the box though, opened it and asked if he wanted to try them._

_So, that's where they were. Sitting on his shit little cot, eating biscuits. He shoots a look over to Dream and laughs when he sees the man has tilted up the mask to take a bite._

_"Why not just take the whole fucking thing off?"_

_"It's about the mystery."_

_"You're so fucking weird, man."_

_Dream smiled and he could see it this time, all straight and white teeth, empty and bared and they looked like a marbled mausoleum, all pristine and shit. It was hard not to smile back reflexively._

_He turns back to the picture of the Queen, picks at the biscuit Niki had made. "Have you ever had a girl make food for you before? Is this like a normal thing? I know her and Puffy are a thing, but what kind of signals does it mean, you know, like I don't really-- I mean I'm fucking great with women, of course, but I--"_

_A hand grabs his chin, tilts it back towards his shoulder and Dream and--_

_He's not like one hundred percent sure on what's happening as his brain frantically works to catch up, but if he was a betting man he would say Dream is kissing him. Clinical and lazy, like he was tossing stones into a river to find one that would skip, and wholly unimpressed even if it did. Idle and meandering and it tastes like ash and smoke and he wants to throw himself away from it, but he's frozen and stuck._

_And you know, it's his first kiss (which is a depressing thought) and it's all shit and he feels more like throwing up than any kind of sparkles or tingles or whatever the fuck it's always described like in novels._

_He manages to get his arms between him and Dream and he shoves so hard the other lands on his ass off the edge of the bed. "Dream, what the fuck man!"_

_He swipes at his lips with the back of his hand, making a show of spitting and cringing and it really is an awful sensation to feel like there's still lips against his when there aren't--_

_Dream just laughs, long and peeling and high like a tea kettle. "You should see your face right now, Tommy."_

_He's sure his face is burning red, redder than his shirt maybe. "That wasn't funny! What the fuck!"_

_"It was just a joke, man." Dream gets back to his feet, mask adjusted back over his face, still laughing, hands held out placatingly. "Just a joke, I swear!"_

_"Well it was a shit fucking joke then..."_

_It's quiet. Neither of them say a word. And he would rather like to be somewhere where he could scrub the skin off his lips than standing here while Dream scrutinizes him and he can't even see the fucker's dumb smug face._

_"I can leave if you want me to…" Dream starts, inching back for the tent flap._

_No. No, no, no. 'Cause then it's just him and his thoughts and how much Tubbo, and everyone-- every single fucking person besides Dream hates him._

_"No, no, it's-- it's fine. Just please don't do that ever again."_

_"Pinky promise." Dream holds up his hand, pinky crooked for him to grab._

_It's just a joke. He says it was just a joke. Not a funny one. People make shitty jokes all the time-- Hell, he made bad jokes all the time._

_If it got him to stay, then it's fine. It's all fine…_

_He hugs his pinky with Dream's. He doesn't need to see it to know Dream is smiling behind the mask._

A hand pushed the image down, out of his line of sight, and he blinked eyes darting up and then down. 

"Maybe we should get rid of this." Technoblade offered. 

He wanted to. He really wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to toss this fucking thing as far away as possible, to never see it ever again, ever. But even if he threw it out, he knew it wouldn't ever leave him alone. It was always there plastered into the back of his head and behind his eyelids. There were so many other things there with it too. Like the weave of the woolen bed sheets just under his nose and cheek, the canvas of the tent overhead, the way it was always night time and no torches and he knew there were stars out but he could never see them-- 

He pushed back, feet wobbly beneath him, knees threatening to crumble into dust, he managed to get to the hearth, fingers clutching at the paper so hard it crumpled under them. 

He tossed it into the fire. Watched the Queen's face develop pox and blisters, the flames lick their way through the image and devour it. It felt sacrilegious, unholy. The little note Dream had tacked to it smiled back from the cinders. 

"God save the Queen." Technoblade deadpanned behind him. 

He snorted and used the fire poker to shove the note, and that smile, that damned little smile, deeper into the ash.

**Author's Note:**

> Check series collection for next parts


End file.
